Yours
by Achernar-amnis-faux
Summary: "Oh, you think I have never bestowed my body to another man? For all my lovers these arms, these breasts of mine are a sweet shelter. For you they are an unbearable prison". Have you ever heard of Atem's royal wife? [AU-ish, Three shot, Blindshipping]
1. The Bride

_I've had this idea swirling in my mind for a while before finally deciding to write it down in a story: what about Atem's wives? I've learned that a prince couldn't be crowned pharaoh if he wasn't married, so Atem had to be married in his previous life. I've imagined his royal wife to be older than him, a woman who loved him like a mother rather than like a wife. Hope you'll like it. Thank you to Emily for helping me editing this first chapter ^^_

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Yours

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It's the dusk by now.

The warm wind of Akhet brushes your golden cheeks.

Ruffles your colored hair.

Makes your precious eyes half-close.

Swirls your clothes of fine linen.

What are you thinking about, oh young pharaoh? What is disturbing your mind, what is upsetting your heart? _Who_ is upsetting your heart?

I see you. Standing on the large terrace of our room, in the capital's luxurious palace. We are surrounded by verdant nature and valuable clothes, refined food, silken music and ancient books. Ceilings painted by the most famous artists, thousands of servants, thousands of subjects. We are in the luxurious palace in Thebe. In _your_ palace. Everything here is yours. You are the pharaoh after all. Everything belongs to you. Me too. I'm yours.

And yet I know, among all the things you own, you would do with pleasure without owning me. Especially when you have to make me really yours. In that case I see you: I see your eyes, red as rubies, always so luminous, fading out little by little. The sparkle of lust lights them for a second, in the most intense moment, but it is still nothing compared to their usual brightness. I see your mouth, so beautiful, curling in that grimace of hurt and constraint and I am about to cry, because a pharaoh should never feel constraint, never feel trapped.

And that is how I see you, o my bridegroom: caged.

Oh, you think I have never bestowed my body to another man? For all my lovers these arms of mine, this breast of mine are a sweet shelter. For you they are an unbearable prison.

The wind is ruffling one of your rebellious locks, revealing a portion of your face, and the last golden rays of the setting sun allow me to see your lips. You are smiling. And I believe I know why.

You are waving, you receive an answer, imperceptibly then you answer yourself, lowering your head in a gesture of assent. I know what you are saying: yes, everything is over, you fulfilled your duties today too, yes, you will be able to meet him later, yes, you love him too, no, she is asleep.

You lean completely on the red clay parapet. But I can see you. It is a kiss you are sending to him, and if I have not lost my mind entirely yet, he would answer you back.

This is who is upsetting your heart. A youth of which I can't remember even the social backgrounds, though I believe he was a cousin of yours, if my memory is not playing tricks on me. He is beautiful, you know? Yes, you surely know. He resembles you so much, with his colored hair, just like yours, his proud demeanor yet less regal, his intense stare still more sweet.

Cheer up my beautiful husband. Soon you will be able to leave these hated rooms you have to share with your royal wife, you will be able to go hold close your lover, to laugh with him, to tell him how much you missed him, to rejoice in his sweet and crystalline laugh, in his night colored eyes, in his amber skin. Then you will be able to play chase like two kids in their first love, to find yourself in a bush, in a remote corner of the garden when the light has already faded and it is dark, and to make love under the shimmering stars and the silent complicity of the moon.

I will not oppose.

What for?

A pharaoh owns many things, he owns his kingdom, his subjects, his wives. But he is still a human, even if tradition claims him to be a god. And you, my, and maybe not so mine, beloved bridegroom are a seventeen year old young man nevertheless, and as every young man of this age you need your adventures and your impossible love in order to flee the responsibilities, too many, that already weigh down your head. In order to forget, during the sweet moments you will spend together, who you truly are.


	2. The Groom

_It's been a while, isn't it? But I had not forgotten about my stories, I just had to sort out a few things with my life... Anyway, here's chapter two of _Yours_: second person narration (as for the first chapter) and Atem's pov. The 'you' he is constantly referring to his the Bride. Also, this chapter depicts the same moment of the first but seen through Atem's eyes and thoughts, so you may want to re-read _The Bride_ maybe..._

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I know that you are looking at me. From where you lay, on your bed of linen and golden pillows, with your beautiful, dark-haired head lazily leant on your right arm, you are staring at me.

Forgive me, I have no courage to turn my head and look at you.

I love you, but sometimes I wish you did not exist; if you were not here, I wouldn't feel like this every day. To know what love is has made me to know how this bond of ours is empty, fake, similar to the grey fog clouds that dissolve in the morning skies, when the incense burns on the altars.

Sometimes I wonder if the truth is that I hate you. It would make it all easier. I wouldn't feel this boulder over my heart, I wouldn't be ashamed, I wouldn't wish to run away. How pointless complaints. A pharaoh should concern about his people, it is Egypt, the beloved land of Ra, that I should love above everything else. And Egypt needs a new sun for that time when the current one, me, will burn out.

I am such a selfish king, maybe because I am more like a man than a king, and as every man I can only think about myself, about what I want now and at this time.

Sorry again, sorry if I have been humiliating you and if I have humiliated you even today; the truth is that it is me I hate, not you. Because I can't hold back my wishes and emotions, because I'm using you like an object, because whilst I'm using you it is also myself that I am treating as an object. As valuables are shut in a coffer, I lock myself behind a mask of composure, a cage of constraints.

It is windy tonight. I am glad, it is pleasant. The breeze ease my mind, I close my eyes.

You are still staring at me.

I do not know if you hate me. You would have the right to; I am not a good king, I am not a good husband, I am not a good lover. However, I sense that you love me, of a pitiful, understanding, sweet love. Like a mother's.

Maybe this is the reason I am not able to hate you truly. You are like a mother; proud, strong, understanding, silent. A queen. You, you do _are_ a queen. And I look up at you for this reason. You succeeded where I failed, Egypt should be grateful for having you on the throne. Yet, I am not able to be grateful of having you by my side. How can I be grateful when my eyes know the sweetness of a pair of irises, as violet as the sky at twilight?

I know your eyes, black as ebony and shiny as stars, but I prefer his to the severity of yours. Yes, his of that young man over there who has just peeped out from behind a column; he is waving at me. I know that a smile has just caressed my lips. I should be ashamed; I am so selfish… still, now I feel suddenly happy. I lean completely over the parapet, trying to get as close to him as I can, though I know I have only managed to gain a few centimeters. It must be a gift from the beautiful Isis to the lovers; I can read the lips language so easily… maybe for those are his lips, and I would follow their perfect moves every day, every word.

I am so selfish.

I softly nod; I believe you know about us, though, as well as I know about your lovers. But I am not jealous; how could I? And who am I to speak? But you say nothing about us, you keep on being silent, and I am fine with that; this feigned secrecy is beautiful, amusing almost.

The question he asks me is a painful one, however, and his eyes get sadder. But I cannot lie to my little sun, and I answer. Do you see me treating you like an object again, my bride? Like a task to carry out, my unfortunate queen.

But I can't think of you anymore now; before those eyes and that smile I forget about everything. Once more, yes; I am a selfish king. But this small, fragile happiness is so beautiful I am addicted to it, I can't do without it, not anymore. Forgive me.

We speak again using the lips language; 'I love you' I modulate with mine, and as the syllables come out of my mouth I know I am being unfaithful again.

Forgive me, I beg you my queen. I am only seeking for some feeble, useless, egoistic freedom.


	3. The Lover

_Third and last chapter of _Yours._ Only ten days to update this time, I'm getting better. Longest chapter, personal favorite, lots of angst and second person narration again. Yugi's pov (Heba sounds just wrong to my hears). Once more: this chapter pictures the same moment of the previous two but seen through Yugi's eyes and emotions. The 'you' he is constantly referring to is Atem._

_Enjoy, and I hope you liked this short collection_

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I should not be here.

Hands leant against this cold marble column, cold as my heart feels in this moment.

You have told me so many times not to come here, told me it would only hurt me and that you don't need me to be here, just like you don't need her. Yet, here I am, even today. And even today you were right. It hurts.

It hurts to watch you walking away, to watch your steps and your persona, which I have always looked up to with admiration, heading to that door, and it hurts watching at you entering that door and not coming out, for hours. Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself.

Do you remember the time we were children? Everything was easier, back then there was no thing as a though choice, or an ambiguous one. Everything was black or white, night or day, yes or no. And the fact that I cared for you was surely a yes. I could not tell if I already loved you. I became able to answer to that question only once I came back, years later, when I spotted your shape among the palms in the palace's courtyard and when I saw your eyes sparkling with happiness when you yelled my name.

You say that my eyes sparkle too, I wonder if they are beautiful as yours, and I hope so for this would make you happy and I would do anything to see you happy.

That is why it hurts so much.

Because if you were happy when you cross that threshold, I would be content. I would patiently wait for you all the hours it takes, I would not go wondering through corridors and rooms in your palace to find a sufficiently dark spot that would hide me while I wait endless moments curled up in there, my mind roaming elsewhere, searching for a way to overcome those walls that separate you from me. But at the same time I would repent because I could not bear the look of what lingers behind the walls and yet, at the identical same time my mind would still want to, because it would at least be with you, near you.

If you were happy, I would be too.

I would not be jealous, feel guilty, be hurt. Because it would not be worth it.

Tell me, o my king, is it really worth it? I am hurting you, tearing you apart, breaking your heart into pieces, one bit at a time, keeping you away from what you have to be and that you can, most likely want to be. And from her. She does not deserve this.

The rustle of the Nile-green grass moves me away from my spinning thoughts. Her garden is beautiful; there is always a pleasant wind, always peace. Even with the war that rages within each of our three souls.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this.

A noise, light as a falling feather but it still catches my attention. I suddenly turn to your window. My face brightens with joy.

That is why I do this. For the silly and selfish hope to watch you coming back to me each time.

You have just left that room, I see you, leant over the earth red parapet, eyes staring into emptiness. What are you thinking about, my pharaoh? About me? Tell me you are thinking about me, please. I need to know that you could never forget me, that you need me. And these are the thoughts that will hurt me the most.

I cannot hold it anymore; I wave at you. You smile; you are taken back, maybe even a bit annoyed because I disobeyed you again, but you soon wave back at me and we start talking. The lips language helps us, we have become expert at using it, even if that has not prevented her from knowing of us, I think. But it doesn't matter.

I am sorry. What I am going to ask you will hurt you too, maybe even more than how much it will hurt me, and it's a silly question because I know the answer already. Mine is a fake hope, but I need to know, to be sure.

You nod, the sparkle in your eyes dulls a bit.

I knew it, why would you come to her rooms if not for _that_ purpose? Still I had to ask. Forgive me for hurting you again. I have to make up, I can't see that look on you, I love you; your joy is my joy and your pain is my pain.

This, exactly this; I tell you that I love you. And my heart rejoices so much when you answer and smile at me so.

Yes, I will go now, I will wait for you where only you know, I know you will not be late. Let me give myself to you also this night, let our hearts get one more beat closer, so that I will be able to better dig, another bit, in that chasm of pain that I let shape in yours.


End file.
